I had it. A wrap. Concealed in a torn Mars Bar wrapper, a quarter of a gram. Of Saffron. La Mancha's finest from an obliging chef. I retraced my steps from Dean back to Wardour Street for the second session of a Grappa master class with Grappe Marolo from, Alba, Italy. I was attending for two reasons, to learn about a spirit that had always assaulted both by palate and my nostrils with its pungent, raw aromas and high alcohol. I had also volunteered to make a Grappa cocktail, a Sour, the classic recipe but with the aromatic intensity of a few sprigs of fresh rosemary added to the shaker.
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